


King of California

by Verfallen



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, First Meetings, Frottage, Grease AU sort of but still set in the 80s, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, starts out smooth and then gets complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verfallen/pseuds/Verfallen
Summary: August 1984 - The Harringtons move from their quiet Indiana town to big city California. Steve has a summer fling with an intriguing stranger he met on the beach.His life is turned around when they end up attending the same school, and he discovers that his charming lover's reputation is much worse than he imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After posting a small ficlet for this AU on Tumblr I decided to turn it into a full-blown fic. I'm really interested in exploring a relationship between Billy and Steve in which Billy doesn't immediately feel the need to show Steve up, and Steve finds out about and has to deal with the darker sides of Billy's personality after they've already started their relationship.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads/kudos/comments, this is my first longer multi-chapter fic in quite some time so I hope you enjoy!

“ _I am just a new boy,_  
Stranger in this town,  
Where are all the good times?  
Who’s gonna show this stranger around? "

> \- Pink Floyd, _Young Lust_

 

Steve always had this lingering fear he’d be one of those people who never escaped the small town they were born in. He’d go off to college and then come back and get some monotonous desk job, swearing every day that today would be the day he’d leave until he woke up one morning and he was old and retired and still there, his entire life swallowed by suburban mediocrity.

Now it felt like karma was smacking him in the face. Tired of being a country boy, Steve? Let’s see how you fare in the city.

He wanted to get out, he did: in his twenties, after he graduated college and got his shit together. Being uprooted right before his last year of high school was never part of the plan.

Not that his plan mattered much next to his father’s business opportunities.

Regret was setting in at how harsh he’d been on Hawkins. He missed his pool, he missed his old house, he missed the convenience store and the lone movie theater, he missed knowing every street by heart. Most of all, he missed _being_ known. Here he was just another person in a crowd of millions, dwarfed by a skyline of concrete and steel buildings taller than he’d ever seen before.

His father’s new office was on the sixty-fifth floor of a building. The _sixty-fifth_ floor. Thinking about the view he must have from his window made Steve’s head spin, his legs wobbling. Who decided an office building needed that many floors? Why were there so many people here?

He was _somebody_ in Hawkins.

In his hubris, he assumed he’d be _somebody_ everywhere. But he wasn’t. In California he was nobody.

If he could stay in the hotel room his parents shacked him up in for the next few weeks while they got their new house in order, his face buried deep in a pillow as he tried not to scream into it, he would. Give himself more time for that sweet, sweet denial.

Alas, his father decided that such behavior was _moping_ and lord knows moping’s as bad as starting an argument. Steve rolled his eyes, feet dragging in the warm sand as he made his way down the beach. He’ll mope if he damn well pleases.

With his hotel towel rolled beneath one arm, he found a quiet spot to plunk down and spend the rest of the day sighing at sights that should - in any other situation - have been exciting to a boy who’d almost never left his hometown.

The water stretched out so far he could make out the curvature of the earth on its murky blue surface. A gentle summer breeze carried the salty air towards him and when he closed his eyes, he could hear nothing but the crashing of waves against the shore, the voices of other beach-goers drowned out in the sheer vastness of the ocean. At the Hawkins public pool, he could smell fifty-cent hot dogs and chlorine, hear the sounds of children screaming, and see the majestic parking lot beyond the fence.

What he wouldn’t give to be sitting in a crappy plastic chair and eating a cheap hot dog by that pool right now.

He unfurled his towel and spread it out across the sand. Most of the beach-goers were further down the shore where the water was calmer, leaving a few brave souls crashing about in the waves. Steve wasn’t interested in swimming anyway. He just wanted to sit and try to forget how out of place he felt here.

The only two towels near his were a black one (upon which Steve could make out the Metallica logo in faded gray), and a much brighter one with orange and blue stripes. Several empty beer cans were half sunk in the sand.

He squinted and raised one hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun as he caught sight of a young couple splashing about in the water. The guy was about his age, tanned and fit with washboard abs that were wet and glistening in the sun. As he whipped his head from side to side, droplets of water flew from his long, golden locks.

Steve huffed. _That_ guy belonged here.

He let himself fall back onto his towel, landing with a thud. Ow. Sand wasn’t as soft as it felt.

With his knees pulled up to his chest, he could see how the white streaks of sunscreen on his skin made him seem so damn pale compared to the man in the water. He was an outdoorsy sort, too, but the tan one got in Indiana didn’t hold a candle to a California beach bum’s tan.

The boy pulled the girl into a deep kiss in the lull between waves. Steve stared at him more than her - she was beautiful but there was something about _him_ that was so intriguing.

He chalked it up to the remnants of his old alpha male self rising to the surface here, wanting to compare to this man and take his rightful place at the top of the hierarchy.

Would he stand a chance if they were to fight? He clenched his fist around a wad of sand, feeling the grains slip out between his fingers. The way the last fight he got into ended made him rethink such reckless acts of aggression, but now that fire was rising in him again.

Blame it on California. If he couldn’t fight the state, he could fight someone who seemed to personify it.

While Steve was lost in thought, the couple was no longer having such a good time. The guy went in for a kiss, and the girl pushed him away. He said something that Steve couldn’t hear at this distance, but it must have been the wrong thing because she smacked him right across the face (and _that_ was loud enough that the next city over could hear it).

The girl stormed back towards the shore and the guy smacked an open hand against the surface of the water, sending some spraying at her back. When she turned to look back at him, he flipped the bird with both hands.

Steve stifled a laugh. Good to know that even guys like that had their off days.

The girl came by and collected her towel (which was, as Steve suspected, the orange and blue one). “Fucking jerk,” she muttered to herself, scooping up some rumpled clothes and walking away.

The guy must be Mr. Metallica himself, then. A pit formed in his stomach when he realized how close he was to that towel, belonging to a now furious, buff looking fellow.

_Where’s your fighting spirit now, Steve? I thought you could take him._

Only his ego stopped him from picking up and moving further away. He might’ve swallowed his pride, but the stranger was staring straight at him, the scowl on his face visible even at this distance.

Great. Had Steve intruded on that tank of a man’s ‘territory’, here? He didn’t fucking know how they ran this beach.

The guy stormed towards him, kicking up sand as he went. It reminded Steve of an angry bull, and right now _he_ was the bright red flag pissing it off. Everything about this situation said ‘run’, but there was that idiot pride again pinning Steve down to the sand.

The other man stopped a few feet away from Steve’s towel, wet sand clinging to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something - and paused, leaning in to get a better look at Steve.

His scowl faded, giving way to pursed lips and a furrowed brow. His eyes raked over Steve, studying every inch of him.

Steve felt self-conscious about the way he was sitting, hunched over with his legs pulled in close. It made him feel small. He _wanted_ to feel small, to disappear, until this stranger stared at him like he was on the menu. Steve relaxed, sprawling out into a more casual position with his legs out in front of him and his bare chest exposed.

This seemed to please the blond, who grinned, predatory and sharp, dragging his tongue over his lips.

Okay. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

Whatever.

At least no one was beating their fist against his face for some imagined infraction.

This guy had just earned the title of ‘fucking jerk’ a couple of minutes ago, so Steve’s hackles were still up but he stood his ground. The last thing he needed was a reputation as a pushover on his first day here.

“Hey,” Steve said, giving him a small nod.

The stranger stepped over to his own towel and sat down, his eye-line meeting Steve’s. He was a little less imposing now that he wasn’t looming over him like the angry beach god. If he heard Steve’s greeting, he ignored it for now.

“You’re not from around here, are you, pretty-boy?” the man said, breaking the silence as he swept a wet clump of hair behind his shoulders with one hand.

Steve bristled at the nickname. Who’s _this_ guy to go around calling anyone else a pretty-boy?

“Is it that obvious?” he sighed.

“Gotta rub that shit in a little better. You look like a fucking ghost,” the man said.

And then he reached over and massaged Steve’s shoulder, pressing his fingertips into Steve’s freckled skin as he rubbed the sunscreen in.

Whatever nagging tough-guy fantasies he had about fighting this boy went out the window the second he felt that strong grip. Jesus, this guy was _built_ . He wanted to flinch at the touch, oh did he _ever_ want to draw back and away, but he leaned into it instead, craving that physical contact.

A hot flush crept across his cheeks and he could only imagine that they were beet red. Nancy broke up with him when he told her about the move, and he didn’t blame her, but he was still yearning for touch in her absence.

Even, it would seem, if said touch was from this fucking guy. Shit, he needed to find a girl here.

“Uh,” Steve said as the stranger clapped him on the back, “Thanks?”

“What’s your name, tourist?” he said, rubbing the remnants of sunscreen clinging to his fingers onto his own muscular chest.

“Steve,” he said, “Steve Harrington. From Indiana.”

He didn’t feel the need to correct the whole ‘tourist’ bit. It might be nice to play tourist for a while. Once the words ‘no, I live here’ crossed his lips it’d be real. He’d be part of the city.

“Wow. Far from home, huh? I’m Billy,” he said, “And you didn’t know this, but this is my part of the beach.”

Great. So there were some weird, territorial games at work.

“Oh,” Steve said, not sure what to make of that declaration or the fact that Billy’s fierce blue eyes were holding extended contact with his, “Sorry, I guess.”

“I’ll forgive you,” Billy said, leaning in to run his wet, sandy fingers through Steve’s hair.

Were all Californians this _handsy?_ Ugh.

“Thanks,” Steve said.

“You look a little forlorn there, Indiana boy,” Billy said, inching his towel ever closer to Steve’s.

Billy’s gaze fixed on him, and his lips seemed to tremble. Steve’s back stiffened; he still felt so on guard although he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Before he could respond, Billy’s watch beeped, and he looked at it with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Fuck,” Billy grunted, slapping his palm against the sand, “I have to go.”

Billy lived here. Was leaving the beach that big of a deal? Steve shrugged, “Bye.”

Billy picked up his shirt and shook the sand off before tossing it on, “You here tomorrow, Harrington?”

“Uh, I’m still going to be in the city, if that’s what you mean,” Steve said.

“Good,” Billy said, sliding one leg back into his pants and hopping around before the other leg found the correct hole, “Why don’t you come back here tomorrow and I’ll give you some swimming lessons?”

Billy winked, grinning at him as he buttoned up his jeans.

“I can swim. They have water in Indiana,” Steve said.

Billy just laughed. “You’re cute. Be here tomorrow. Is ten A.M. all right?”

“I, uh - sure?” Steve said.

Billy nodded, grabbing his towel as he ran off towards his car.

What an odd guy.

Maybe it was a standard of friendliness that Steve, in his sheltered suburban life, wasn’t used to. Carol told him once that everyone kisses each other in Europe, just to say hi. Europeans kissed each other and Californians touched you without asking.

He still wasn’t sure that any of this was worth committing to. A guy like Billy’d show up the next day with another girl in tow, wondering what the hell an intruder like Steve was doing on his _territory_.

But when he got back to the hotel a few hours later and stepped into the shower, the sand clinging to his hair made him think of Billy.

And he kept thinking of him long into the night.

 

* * *

 

Billy’s Camaro came to a screeching halt outside the skate park. He was clutching the wheel so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Fuck, he _really_ shouldn’t be doing this!

Last summer it was Ethan from Wyoming, with his freckles and auburn hair. Billy caught him staring at his bare chest from across the smoothie bar and Billy told himself it was a one-time thing, a little self-imposed challenge to prove that he could seduce a guy. By the time Ethan put his soft, pouty lips around Billy’s cock for the third time it had become a challenge to see if he could _keep_ a guy interested.

He was just a tourist. He’d go back to Wyoming and the miles between them would prevent anyone from connecting him to Billy.

That was it. He tried it once, and it satisfied him.

Then spring break happened and Alex from Minnesota told Billy he liked his earring, giving him coy glances from behind his margarita glass.

Neil Hargrove almost caught them together with Alex’s hand down Billy’s pants. Fuck, he would’ve killed him. His heart had never raced faster, not in any fight he’d ever been in, not when Neil backhanded him for staying out too late, _never_.

He swore this risky business off after that.

At least, he did until Steve from Indiana showed up with those big brown eyes and the most perfect hair Billy had ever seen, all nice and gift-wrapped for him in a fancy hotel towel on the beach.

Why did he keep doing this to himself? He could pick up a girl whenever he wanted if he was that horny. Why’d these stupid pretty-boy tourists have to keep catching his eye like this?

Maybe it was because his date blew him off. He’d go home and jerk off and think about chicks and then Steve would be the furthest thing from his mind.

Or perhaps he and Steve would both show up at the beach tomorrow and Billy’d ravish that small-town boy, show him a world of pleasure his poor sheltered mind couldn’t even comprehend.

Then Steve, gorgeous Steve, would kneel and suck his dick. Billy groaned just thinking about it.

God, he wanted that.

He shouldn’t want it, but lust would always win out. Billy’s mind was no match for his dick. Maybe he could get away with it, one more time.

He exhaled, hissing between clenched teeth as he looked at the clock on his radio. Ten fucking minutes he’d been waiting here. That cleared his head, at least. He slammed his palm against the horn, holding it there until he got dirty looks from passers-by.

Where the hell was Max?

She came running out from behind the fence with her skateboard tucked under one arm, panting with exhaustion as she piled into the passenger seat.

“You’re supposed to be out at four-thirty,” Billy growled, eyes fixated on the clock.

“Lost track of time,” Max said, quick to change the subject, “I’m thirsty. Can we stop at the store?”

“Why didn’t you get anything from the vending machine?” Billy said.

“I spent all my money -” Max said.

“ _My_ money,” Billy interrupted.

“I spent all the money you _gave me_ at the arcade this morning. This jackass beat my score on Centipede,” she said.

Billy rolled his eyes, tilting his head down so Max could see him do it behind his sunglasses. He only had the faintest clue what Centipede was and how one could win at it, but in his opinion, it was all a load of bullshit. Couldn’t Max fight with her fists instead of a joystick, like a normal kid?

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up, “If you’re the one that got beat it sounds like you’re the jackass.”

“I beat him!” Max said, swatting him on the shoulder (to which he huffed, pinching his cig between his teeth), “It just took all of my quarters.”

“Then it sure seems like you being thirsty is a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem,” Billy said, shifting into gear and stomping down on the gas pedal as soon as Max had buckled in.

“Billy! Come on,” Max said, slapping the dashboard with that annoying fervor that kids her age seemed blessed with, “Come on, come _on_!”

He turned up the volume dial on his radio until it was so loud the car shook with every bass note. She seemed to get the point, settling down and slumping back in her seat with her arms crossed.

Still, Billy pulled up to the Circle K when they drove by, flicking his cigarette butt out the open window.

“You wait here,” Billy said, stepping out of the car.

A few minutes later he emerged from the store with a can of Pepsi in hand. Max almost jumped out of her seat with excitement as Billy got back into the car.

“Oh my god!” she said, clasping her hands together, “Thankyouthankyou _thankyou_!”

Then he popped the can open himself and chugged it, tossing Max a cheap plastic water bottle.

“Why the long face?” he said, crushing the can in hand once he finished it, “Oh, sorry, did you think _this_ was for you?”

“Asshole,” Max said.

“You’re the second girl that’s called me that today. Get in line, kid,” he said, driving off once again.

Max paused, taking a few sips of the water. “Thanks, though,” she said, “For getting me this.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, “And I’m sorry, by the way. About the Centipede thing. You’re not the jackass.”

Max looked at him as if he was plucked from the earth and replaced with a doppelganger, a not-evil twin.

“You’re both jackasses,” he said, unable to contain the wheeze of laughter that escaped him, “Because you care about _Centipede_.”

Max smacked him on the shoulder again and this time he was too busy laughing to snap at her. _Just try to convince me that Centipede’s not lame, Max, I dare you._

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Max said, taking another drink.

“Nope,” Billy said, a sardonic grin plastered on his face.

All things considered, his relationship with his stepsister was in a much better place than usual. Billy was supposed to be at school during the day retaking last year’s math class, which he failed with a 42%. Susan wanted to sign Max up for dance camp and was so enamored with the idea that she didn’t seem to notice the fact that Max would rather stick her head in the toilet than take dancing lessons.

They came to a mutual agreement to split the dance camp money (70/30 in Billy’s favor, he wasn’t _that_ generous) and play hooky. He’d go to the beach, and she could split her day between the arcade and the skate park. If either of them tattled, the other one would tattle on them, too.

It was the most amicable arrangement they’d ever had with each other. Who said Billy was the only delinquent in the Hargrove household? He’d almost be proud if he didn’t hate her guts.

It was a relief that he didn’t have to navigate their tumultuous relationship for a while. There was only one thing on his mind right now: Steve fucking Harrington, sunbathing out there on a towel with a higher thread count than anything Billy owned, his hair swaying in the wind.

A trickle of sweat made its way down his brow. This was still wrong. Still stupid.

Part of him was hoping Steve wouldn’t show up, and another part of him was aching at the possibility that Steve-Harrington-from-Indiana was out of his life before he was ever in it.

 

* * *

 

Steve stood ankle-deep in the water, shuffling his way in. It was _colder_ than he expected it to be, having swum for most of his life in small, heated pools. The hot sun beating down on him only highlighted how cold the ocean was.

“Come on, you just have to get in,” said Billy, who was already waist-deep.

Easy for him to say. He’d done it a million times.

“I dunno,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

He wasn’t afraid of the ocean. Far from it, he was quite a strong swimmer no matter how much Billy wanted to condescend to him. Going for a dip just didn’t seem all that appealing compared to lying on the beach and soaking up the sun. The only reason he was doing it at all was for Billy. He felt kind of ridiculous spending time with a complete stranger he was half-expecting to ditch him the second a pretty girl walked by, but it wasn’t like he had anyone else to spend time with.

Besides, he had to admit there was something intriguing about this well-built Metalhead who didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

Billy splashing Steve right in the face interrupted his train of thought. The cold water stung enough to make him yelp and stumble back, falling ass-first into the shallow water. Oh, that _fucker_.

“And now you’re used to it. Get in, loser,” Billy teased, splashing him once more for good measure.

He was right. That time didn’t feel as cold as the first. He stood up, flicking the wet sand from his hands as he waded further in. Billy ran ahead of him, going deeper and deeper, his strong legs tearing through the surface.

A wave crashed down over Billy. Steve could see his back muscles tense as he braced himself for impact, and then foamy white water obscured him. He bit down on his bottom lip; something about the way Billy tensed up (Steve could make out the contours of all his muscles if he stared long enough, he thought) was rousing strange feelings within him.

Must be that old competitive spirit rearing its ugly head again.

The wave arrived at Steve’s feet, little more than a ripple. Billy picked a stray strand of seaweed out of his soaking wet hair and tossed it back, “Come on, it’s fun!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Steve said, closing the distance between himself and Billy.

The water was above his navel now and for the first time, he noticed that he was taller than Billy. Only just, but Billy was so imposing that Steve having so much as an inch on him was surprising.

“All right,” Billy said, “You have to kick your legs in one swift motion. Flailing around won’t get you anywhere.”

“I can swim!” Steve said, dipping down into the water to prove his point.

Billy treating him like a backward hick was getting on his nerves. What did this guy have to prove? Why was he trying to damn hard to make himself seem impressive?

“Okay, okay,” Billy said, raising his arms above his head.

Shit, those biceps were something else.

_Stop staring at his arms, you idiot, you’ll weird him out._

But when Billy caught Steve staring he only flexed further, standing with his arms behind his head and his chest puffed out like a swimsuit model. Heat was spreading across his cheeks once again and he let himself sink further into the water to hide his flushed face.

Billy dove into the water, coming at Steve like a shark smelling blood. Steve kicked his legs and paddled away, seaweed tickling his stomach as he swam. The currents pushed and pulled at him in a way that took some getting used to, but he had to admit that he was enjoying himself.

Then Billy crashed into him like a load of bricks, knocking the wind out of him. Steve struggled to pull away, but Billy’s arm was curled around his chest, holding him in place.

“Gotcha,” Billy said, firm chest pressed up against Steve’s back.

As athletic as Steve was, Billy kept hold of him with little effort. Steve was almost embarrassed about how easy it seemed to be for him. His fight kicked in as he elbowed Billy in the ribs, released from his grasp.

There was a nagging part of Steve’s mind that couldn’t help but imagine Billy dragging him around the beach like a caveman. Throwing him down on the sand, strong hands pinning him to the ground by his shoulders, and then -

\- and then _what_?

Wherever this little fantasy was going, Steve didn’t like it (and yet _,_ he liked it a lot, which he hated even more). He was just touch-starved and this douchebag wouldn’t stop rubbing up on him.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you, Harrington?” Billy said, rubbing the spot on his side where Steve’s elbow had made contact, “I like that.”

Blue eyes fixated on Steve, Billy leaned in and got ready to pounce before the swell of another wave forming on the horizon made him stand tall and brace himself once more. Steve tried to do the same, only to underestimate how it would feel to stand up against a wave that was taller than him.

Billy withstood the blow with ease.

Steve stumbled, feeling a push as it crashed down on top of him and then a pull as it receded, sucking him beneath the surface as he flailed about, trying to regain his lost footing. In the brief moments his head broke the surface of the water he could hear Billy, that prick, laughing his ass off.

The laughter subsided and Steve once again felt that strong arm around his chest, helping to steady him. “Plant your feet, Harrington,” Billy said, gripping tight on Steve’s shoulders with both hands, “Here, I’ll help you out with the next one.”

Steve didn’t want there to be a next one but Billy was holding him in place now and a fresh wave was already coming. He coughed, trying to get the taste of salt and brine off of his tongue before he took a deep breath in.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Billy pulling him in closer, their lips pressing together just as the wave hit.

It was difficult for Steve to comprehend what was happening, with the force of the water rushing by his head so fast. There was that, there was seaweed rubbing up against his leg, the sand between his toes - and, yes, Billy’s arms wrapped around him, their lips touching.

The wave passed in a few seconds but to Steve it seemed like an eternity. A deep blue void shielding their private embrace from prying eyes, holding them in suspended animation. But all things must end, and their cover retreated. It was Billy who broke the contact between them, jumping back a few feet before the receding water exposed them to the world.

Steve blinked, his lips parted to speak but his breath hitched in his throat and he stood dumbfounded.

What just happened?

What was _that_?

The way Billy insisted on giving him these stupid ‘swimming lessons’ when he said damn well he could swim, the way he flexed a little harder when Steve was looking at him, how upset he seemed yesterday when he had to leave, all those little touches Steve chalked up to a cultural quirk…

‘ _You’re not from around here, are you, pretty-boy?’_

Shit. He was flirting this entire time, wasn’t he?

Steve couldn’t tell if he was in denial about that fact or so naïve he was oblivious to it, but in hindsight it seemed obvious. If a girl behaved how Billy had towards him he’d pick up on it fast, but this was a _boy_ and Steve didn’t like boys in that way.

Right?

That same confusing feeling he’d been having around Billy flared again and this time he could tell what it was. Competitive spirit? No. That was there, but it went hand in hand with the real culprit: desire.

Desire that made him lean into Billy’s touch rather than away from it. Desire that was unwanted and frightening but _there_.

Billy gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, soft lips curved into a slight smile. He wanted Billy, and Billy wanted him back. _Fuck_.

If he wanted it, he might as well go for it. He stumbled forward, gait unsteady as a baby deer, looking to lock lips with Billy again. Instead, he met with a palm in his face shoving him backward.

“Not out in the open, idiot,” Billy hissed, but he grabbed Steve by the arm to steady him before he could fall.

“Yeah, right, right,” Steve said, flushed, “Sorry.”

Great, not only did he try to kiss a _guy_ , that guy pushed him off. What a day. He huffed and looked downward, unable to meet Billy’s eyes. How could he have been so stupid? Billy waited until they had cover, and for good reason.

“It’s fine. This is…this is your first time, isn’t it?” Billy said, “With a guy.”

“I don’t - I like girls,” Steve said, his voice coming out at a higher pitch than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah, sure, so do I,” Billy said, a hand reaching out to nudge Steve on the cheek so he stopped staring at his feet like a kid at his first school dance, “ _And_ I like you.”

Steve didn’t respond. This never would have happened in Hawkins. None of the guys there had ever caught his eye the way Billy did.

“You like me, too,” Billy said, tilting his head to one side, "Or you wouldn't be so eager for more."

For once, Steve allowed himself to take a good long look at Billy without trying to push his desire to stare away or rationalize it as something else. He nodded, just enough that Billy saw it.

If the ground wanted to split open and suck him under right now he’d be fine with that.

With some fondness, he recalled a time when his biggest problem was that he was a new kid in a city a hundred times the size he was used to. Had he moped so much about that problem that the world gave him something else to worry about?

_Okay, universe, I’m sorry, I’ll never whine again._

Despite his begging, the sight of Billy in nothing but his swim trunks, sparkling wet in the sun, still sent shivers down his spine.

This was real. Steve choked, furious with himself. He knew this couldn’t be a thing, but while he had the common sense to know that this was risky as all hell he didn’t have the restraint to push Billy away.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it,” Billy said, his deep voice so calming despite everything, “ _I’m_ not gonna tell anyone. If you want this, it’s between us, and it’s only for the summer.”

That was some consolation. If his dumb teenage hormones decided that this beach boy got him going now, if his body would keep purring with a desire for that sculpted, masculine physique, this was the best time to indulge in it.

He sighed, but he nodded again. It’s not a commitment, just an experiment.

And it’s only for the summer.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Following the footsteps_  
_Of a rag doll dance,_  
_We are entranced,_  
_Spellbound."_

> \- Siouxsie and the Banshees, _Spellbound_

It was a long drive, but Billy didn’t mind. The Camaro was like his own private little world with Steve; they could be stuck in the middle of rush hour traffic and he’d rest his fingers on Steve’s knuckles, tracing circles over them while he waited for the light to turn green. He could be going eighty on the freeway and Steve would squeeze his thigh so hard he’d find little red marks on his skin later.

Billy wasn’t used to holding back his affection. When he was with a girl he’d be all over her, sloppy and crude and grinding up against her like the whole world was their bedroom. When he was with a boy - with _Steve_ \- he learned to value every little moment of secrecy they had. Beneath the waves, inside of his car - earlier today there were a few precious seconds where they walked through an alleyway that turned out to be empty and Billy savored those, too, smashing his lips against Steve’s and pulling away like nothing happened before they got through to the other side.

It was exhilarating and exhausting and terrible all at once.

It was the way they had to be.

Billy turned his head to the side, just enough that he could catch a glimpse of Steve’s eyelids growing droopy and falling shut. They were beyond city limits now and it was _dark_ , dark enough to see the stars unimpeded by the glare of neon lights and skyscraper windows. When he passed under a lamppost it bathed Steve in a halo of light, illuminating every perfect strand of hair on his head. Peaceful, Billy thought, that’s how Steve looked right now.

Tires screeched against the pavement as Billy _slammed_ one heavy boot down on the gas pedal, propelling the Camaro forward with considerable force.

“Wha - ?” Steve jolted up in his seat, eyes so wide Billy could see the whites all around his big brown irises.

Billy snickered, and Steve’s expression of panic turned into one of annoyance which only sent Billy into a full-on laughing fit.

“Your fucking face,” Billy said, wheezing so hard he struggled to get his words out, “Oh god, you should’ve seen it.”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest and slumped down in the seat. God, he looked like such a little brat sometimes and Billy couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“You’re such an ass,” Steve said, but Billy could make out the faintest hint of a smile as he turned to look out the window.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Billy said, reaching over to ruffle Steve’s hair, “And it won’t be the last, either.”

The Camaro began to slow to a crawl as Billy lifted his foot off the pedal, pulling it away from the road and onto the grass, far enough out that they couldn’t be seen from the highway save for the car headlights.

If anyone driving by actually pulled over to interrogate them about what they were doing - fuck it, Billy’d just say they were drinking.

“We’re here,” Billy said, putting the car into park as he swung the door open.

Steve followed suit, stepping out into the cold night air with his clenched hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Billy couldn’t help but recall how much he trembled the first time he was alone like this with a boy he wanted to be with. All things considered, Steve was keeping his composure quite well.

Billy took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, his Zippo lighter snapping shut with a soft clink. He stretched out his legs and reclined against the hood of the car, gesturing out towards the San Diego skyline. “Doesn’t look so big from here, does it?”

As Steve slid in beside Billy, his posture relaxed and he took one hand out of his pockets, intertwining his fingers with Billy’s as they stared out into the distance together. For once, Steve was looking at the city - at Billy’s home, his domain - with fondness rather than disdain.

Billy chuckled, “You feel small here, don’t you, country mouse?”

Steve huffed and his back straightened as if he was trying to take up as much space next to Billy as possible, so Billy knew he was onto something.

“Don’t feel bad about it, Harrington. Shit, how could you _not_ feel a little small in a place like this?” Billy said, leaning in to give Steve a peck on the cheek as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

Inside the wallet was a folded postcard, which he took out and unfolded like it was sacred parchment. The picture was faded with time, but it could still be made out in the faint glow of the headlights: the same skyline they were looking at right now, with the words ‘GREETINGS FROM SUNNY SAN DIEGO - 1974’.

“My mom got that for me,” Billy said, running his fingers over the deep creases where the postcard had been folded up time and time again, “Dad said it was stupid. You don’t get a souvenir from San Diego if you live in San Diego. But I’d never been outside the city before, so this was the first time I saw it like that. Far away. Small.”

Steve sighed, relaxing enough to rest his head against Billy’s, “One of those damn buildings probably has more people in it than my entire hometown.”

“Yeah,” Billy shrugged, “But none of them have Steve Harrington, so we’ll call it even.”

He slid one arm around Steve’s waist while he folded up the postcard and put it back into his pocket. Steve tensed up at the touch, but he still leaned into it.

How many times had Billy dragged out that old postcard in front of a date? It had to be in the double digits. The first time he’d done it it was sincere, he was a few months shy of fifteen and lacking the experience he had now. At seventeen it was an easy way to foster some comfort and affection for him - see! I’m not just a brute or a player, I miss my mom, I had big dreams, maybe I even have _feelings_ and could therefore have feelings for you - and take away some of his partner’s hesitations so he could get laid. A well-rehearsed script he tweaked a little to tailor it to whoever he was with right now.

_You could make it in Hollywood with that acting skill, Billy Hargrove._

A pang of guilt swelled within his chest. Something about Steve made him, for the first time ever, regret playing the same little emotional games he played with everybody else. What would Steve think of him, if he ever found out the special moment they shared here wasn’t so special after all?

Shit. Was he really getting attached to _him_ of all people? Steve was leaving in a couple weeks, he lived on the other side of the damned country, and beside that all he was a boy. Billy would have to be nuts to think this could ever amount to anything more than a few good fucks.

Taking one final puff of his cigarette, he let it fall from his mouth onto the ground before he stomped out the last embers with his boot. It was difficult to sit here and mull over his feelings like that, so why bother when just kissing Steve would be so easy? He yanked the other teen in closer, unceremoniously shoving his tongue between Steve’s lips. He still tasted of lemon and Corona beer from earlier in the day. Billy himself, he could only imagine, must taste only of Marlboro cigarettes by now.

Steve _moaned_ right into his mouth, deep and low. Whatever capacity for hesitation Billy had went right out the window, and he snaked one hand in underneath Steve’s pants, giving his goods a small squeeze.

Steve moaned again. God, Billy could listen to that sound forever and ever.

“Christ,” Billy said, pulling back from the kiss as he felt Steve begin to grow hard beneath his hand, “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

Billy grinned, and Steve bit down on his lower lip and turned away. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re shy,” Billy said.

That accusation must have roused something in Steve, because he lunged forward with enough force to push Billy back, bucking his hips so his half-hard cock was thrusting right into Billy’s palm.

“I want you,” Steve said, undoing the button on his jeans so they weren’t so tight against his dick, “Let’s just _fuck_ already.”

“I knew you had some fire in you, Harrington,” Billy purred, kissing Steve’s neck.

Steve might be out of his element here in so many ways but Billy could tell that he was no bashful shy boy. He was a fighter, a champion, and Billy wanted to know how much of that he could tease out before the end of the summer.

He kept on kissing Steve’s neck, working his way up to his jawline. Steve’s fingertips dug into his shoulders, feeling the curvature of his muscles as he withdrew his hand from Steve’s cock, making him whimper in protest.

“Don’t worry, it only gets better from there,” Billy said, because from the way Steve’s pulse was racing he could surmise that this was his first time with a guy and he didn’t know exactly what to do.

“You do me, now,” he said, taking Steve’s wrist and guiding his hand towards his belt, which he undid without hesitation.

His hands were a little rougher than what Billy was used to, but he enjoyed that. He didn’t try to stop himself from moaning at the touch, letting Steve take in the low baritone his voice could slip into in moments like this.

There was nothing quite like feeling another man growing hard at your touch, Billy thought. That sort of obvious physical indication of pleasure was just so satisfying, and by the look on Steve’s face he was discovering that for himself, too. When they were both fully erect he bucked his hips, grinding his own hard length against Steve’s as Steve jumped back, his breath caught in his throat at the sudden rush of pleasure.

His gaze met Steve’s, and he stroked his cheek as if to reassure him. See? It’s that easy, just skin-on-skin, nothing more. Precum was already starting to dribble from the tip of Steve’s cock, and Billy wasn’t too far behind on that front.

Now that the initial shock had passed Steve seemed to regain his swagger, grinding up against Billy slow and methodical, running his fingers through is curly golden mullet.

The other men Billy had been with were very soft and gentle when they were intimate with him. Not Steve. While lacking the sheer furious passion that Billy possessed in spades, Steve was something else, he was...steady. Strong, but such a different sort of strength from Billy’s own that he couldn’t help but be fascinated. He was thrusting fast and wild, leaving bite marks on Steve’s shoulders and pulling at his hair. Steve was only going at about half Billy’s pace, but by God he felt every powerful thrust, felt Steve’s firm grip on his ass squeeze tighter every time.

If either of them were older and more patient they may have worked out in advance that this was only going to end with cum-splattered clothing a good few miles away from the nearest paper towel, but fuck it, they could refine their technique later. Tonight they were perfectly happy with this dirty, primal sort of love-making.

Steve came first and Billy had to hold him up to keep him from falling right onto his ass. Billy thought he could hold out for a few minutes longer until Steve, still with that dazed post-orgasm look on his face, wrapped his hand around Billy’s length just beneath the tip and then he came, too, his knees weak as he put one hand on the Camaro to steady himself.

They’d spend nearly an hour there naked under the starlight, silently in each other’s arms as the cool night air chilled their exposed skin before they got up and, without a word, drove back.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, tell me you weren’t a big shot back in - Hawking?” Billy said, chewing the end of his straw as he sipped his drink.

Steve wondered if Billy could go ten minutes without having something in his mouth. Straws, cigarettes, toothpicks, those tiny novelty umbrellas that people in this state seemed to put on everything; if Billy could stick it in his mouth he was damn well going to. Not to mention all the time he spent licking his lips like a hungry dog.

This particular fixation was one of the first things Steve noticed about Billy, and it didn’t surprise him that the first time they were alone together, Billy was ravenous. He kissed Steve on the lips, the jaw, the neck, all the way down to his shoulders where he sucked so hard it left a pretty little welt for Steve to look at every time he stepped in front of a mirror without his shirt on. Thank god Billy was sensible enough to mark him in a place he could easily cover, the last thing he wanted was for his parents to find out he’d already started having a fling his first week here.

On the beach it was all laid bare. Every hickey, every bite, every bruise from Billy’s stout fingers pressing into his back. Maybe that was why Billy dragged him back there, day after day. To see his handiwork.

Once Steve invited Billy back to his hotel room, however, that became their primary hangout for privacy reasons. Billy hadn’t even asked to come back to his room before Steve invited him, and seemed shocked that Steve’s parents paid for him to have his own separate room.

Sometimes Steve forgot that not everyone’s family had as much money as his.

“Hawkins,” Steve corrected him.

“Whatever,” Billy said, his tongue batting the straw from one corner of his mouth to the other, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Billy wasn’t wrong, no, it just seemed kind of silly in hindsight that Steve had once cared so much about his place in the Hawkins pecking order.

Yet, Billy seemed so eager to know, nudging him with his elbow and grinning at him from behind a raised glass. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? Someone bold and fun and carefree who was so _into_ him, who made him feel significant again.

“I guess I had this nickname,” Steve said.

It couldn’t hurt to talk himself up a little, could it? His relationship with Billy already had a set end date, if there was any chance Steve had to just be a stupid teenager again without consequence then this was it.

“Oh?” Billy said, eyebrows raised, “Do tell.”

Steve waved a hand in front of his face, “It’s dumb, really, but they used to call me ‘King Steve’.”

He was expecting Billy to laugh so hard that his martini (this room was in his dad’s name, Steve discovered, and room service would bring him as much alcohol as he wanted) came out of his nose. The high school Billy went to probably had more students than Hawkins had people, how could he possibly be impressed with Steve’s small-town credentials?

But Billy parted his lips so the straw could fall back down to the bottom of the glass with a thunk, and then he ran his tongue across his teeth. Slow. Sensual.

Christ, did he actually care about that, for real? It reminded Steve of himself, or at least, the version of himself that used to hang out with Tommy and Carol. The word _immature_ came to mind. Billy was immature.

And hot. And exciting. And, against Steve’s better judgment, kind of cool.

“ _King_ Steve,” Billy said, setting his glass down on the bedside table, “I didn’t know Indiana was a monarchy.”

“Yeah, I told you it was stupid,” Steve laughed.

“Kind of,” Billy said, “But I dig it. King Steve. Guess I should’ve practiced my curtsy.”

“I’ll forgive you,” Steve said, as Billy so mercifully forgave him for sitting on _his_ part of the beach.

Billy leaned back against the bed, staring up at the hotel room ceiling, watching the fan blades go around and around and around. There was a certain thrill to sneaking around outside, but Steve treasured the privacy they had here. Billy was different when he wasn’t putting on a display for the entire world to see, when he was here alone with Steve.

There was still a bit of a display going on, Steve imagined, but at least it was the display meant only for him.

“So, when’d you know?” Billy said, “I mean, what was your first awkward crush on a guy? Were you watching TV, or looking at an album cover, or what?”

Steve paused. Oh. He didn’t expect the conversation to go in that direction, although he supposed he was really the only person Billy could actually talk to about it if he wanted to.

“It was uh,” Steve went over the question in his mind, trying to find any moment in his past that would have hinted at this and coming up blank, “I don’t actually know.”

“Wait, hold on,” Billy said, sitting up straight to look Steve right in the eyes, “You know what that means, right?”

“What?” Steve said.

Billy was grinning wide, his tongue sticking out just enough to rest on his bottom lip.

Oh, no.

“It was me!” Billy said, “ _I_ was your sexual awakening.”

He stood tall and proud, puffing out his chest. He was going to be smug about this for the rest of the day, wasn’t he? And Steve couldn’t even say anything to shut him down, because he was right.

This certainly wasn’t the first time Steve had ever thought about being with a guy. It was something he wondered about from time to time, but always in an abstract way. ‘ _If I were into guys, what sort of guy would I be into?_ ’ and that sort of idle daydreaming. He assumed the guys he’d be into would resemble the girls he liked: kind, smart, strong-willed. Small and soft and delicate.

That he found himself attracted to Billy nagged at the back of his mind, constantly. Not only was he into a guy, he was into such a loud, aggressive, undeniably _masculine_ guy that he couldn’t find a way to rationalize it. He liked the way Billy’s muscles felt, the smell of his cologne mixed with sweat, how deep his voice was, the feeling of stubble against his cheek when they kissed.

When he imagined himself with another man, it was always someone he liked _despite_ the fact that they were male. With Billy, that was a perk, not a drawback, and Steve wasn’t ready to reflect on that just yet.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Steve said, as if anything could ever stop Billy from being too cocky, “Small town boy, remember? You didn’t have much competition.”

“You have movies in Hawkins? What about TV?” Billy said, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder and kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah, but -” Steve said.

“But nothing,” Billy said, “I’m taking full credit for this, sorry!”

As if he was actually sorry. Steve sighed, resigned to the fact that Billy was going to gloat about this for a long time. He kissed Billy on the lips (the one reliable way to get him to shut up) and then broke it off, planting kisses down the impressive swell of muscle that rested above Billy’s shoulders.

Steve’s flesh was soft and delicate, fair and dotted with freckles that Billy just loved to point out and trace his fingers along. When Billy bit down on him or sucked a little too hard, it bruised almost immediately. Billy was just the opposite: coarse and rough like tanned leather. Steve could feel the bumps and ridges of a thousand tiny scars beneath his lips and fingers when they trailed over his skin.

Where’d they all come from?

It probably had something to do with the fresh scrapes Billy always seemed to have on his knuckles. He brandished them with pride, like they were Olympic medals. He was a fighter and he loved it.

Steve knew that wasn’t ideal, but he was a fighter once too, wasn’t he? He recalls laying his fists into Jonathan Byers without a care for his well-being or the consequences or anything but his own short-sighted rage. It was a lack of opponents in Hawkins rather than his own good sense that kept him from being scarred up like Billy.

He took Billy’s left hand into his own and kissed him on the knuckles, where one of his many barely-healed scrapes still carried the metallic taste of blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](https://verfallens.tumblr.com/).


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